


Bothersome

by Carry_On_Destiel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Come-Swallowing, First Kiss, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carry_On_Destiel/pseuds/Carry_On_Destiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~Before he could second-guess himself, John leaned forward to press a whisper soft kiss to those smirking lips. Sherlock made a quiet little noise, responding with equal tenderness as they shifted together, sinking into a warm embrace. Gradually the kisses changed from chaste and exploratory to hot, open-mouthed, groaning; the slide of bare skin and tangled limbs lighting a fire in John's chest, burning away his embarrassment.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in Season One, after John's first date with Sarah.

"I said: Does it bother you John?" snapped Sherlock, the moment John stepped into the flat.

"Which bit, Sherlock?" replied a weary John, just returned from a double shift at the clinic, "The eyeballs in the microwave? The severed head in the refrigerator, or your unauthorized use of my things?"

"No, no, no! Does it bother you when people _assume_." Sherlock bit out impatiently, clearly annoyed that John had not immediately deduced his meaning.

"Assume what?" John shrugged out of his coat with a sigh, exhausted from his dreary day at the office.

Sherlock swept to his feet in a huff, dressing gown swirling about dramatically, "About us, you buffoon! When they assume that you and I - we - are a couple!" 

John's jaw dropped. Of all the things he had considered, this was not at all what he expected Sherlock to work himself up about. Of course, that particular mistake happened so often that John barely had the energy to protest them anymore. Lately though, each sly comment inspired a twinge of regret, rather than annoyance - but John hadn't allowed himself to think too deeply on the matter. Not that he ever had a moment to think anyway.

"Course not. Why would it bother me, Sherlock?" he answered evasively, hanging up his coat so he wouldn't make eye contact and give away some tell-tale clue.

"You're lying, John." 

John squeezed his eyes shut tightly, still facing away from his astonishingly irritating flatmate, "Oh, am I?"   
  
Without waiting for a response, John hurried to the kitchen to put on the kettle, praying Sherlock would let the matter drop. 

"Yes, John. Lying. But _why?_ " Sherlock's smooth voice was closer than before, as though the detective was standing only a few inches from John's shoulder. 

"What's there to lie about Sherlock, we're not a couple! I know that and you certainly know it, so that's it, isn't it?" John burst out, suddenly frustrated beyond belief - which had nothing to do with the scent of Sherlock's minty shampoo invading John space and leaving him dizzy with lust. Only, how was he supposed to think clearly when Sherlock was always _there_?

"Rather touchy, aren't we John?" Sherlock tutted, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips, "Well, its clear that there could only be two reasons for your sudden irrational outburst-"

"Its NOT irrational! And I'm not interested in being your guinea pig, Sherlock." John cut in angrily, slamming the kettle down more forcefully than he had intended and sloshing cool water on the floor.

"As I was saying; two possible reasons, John. The first, of course, being that you are disgusted at the idea of being mistaken for a gay man - but that seems unlikely considering your amiable relationship with your sister's ex-wife." Sherlock had edged even closer, crowding John up against the counter, their bodies barely not-touching. 

"I'm not a bloody homophobe, if that's what you're suggesting." John tried to sound offended but Sherlock's warmth was seeping through his clothes and reduced his protest to a breathy whisper.

"And the other reason," Sherlock hummed softly, slender fingers sliding up John's shirt front, "is that you don't like being reminded of what we _aren't_."

Then he covered John's lips with his own, smothering the shorter man's half-hearted objection. For a moment, John was frozen with shock, until Sherlock's fingers clutched at his shirt drawing him deeper into the kiss. Then John's hands were on Sherlock's body, exploring his lean torso through nothing more than two thin layers of silk. Sherlock whimpered quietly as John's finger's wound into his thick curls, dragging him down so that John could lick open the detective's mouth.  
  
"This had better not be another bloody experiment, Sherlock." John muttered, gripping Sherlock's hair tightly, almost angrily.  
  
John was no longer evasive, no longer timid - instead he was bold and confident as he guided Sherlock against the wall, his tongue teasing along Sherlock's sensitive lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Sherlock whined into John's mouth, his usually dexterous fingers fumbling at the buttons on John's clothes, his mind as close to blank as it had ever been. The only thing he could focus on right now was the feel of John's body, the taste of his mouth and the pleasurable pain of John's fist, crushing their mouths together. Somehow he managed to remove the doctor's woolen jumper but was stymied yet again by the cotton t-shirt below, tearing it up and over the smaller man's head, breaking their kiss for a brief moment.  
  
"Everything's an experiment, John." Sherlock finally replied, with a wide grin, "But some are more enjoyable than others."


	2. Chapter 2

The mismatched pair shuffled awkwardly through the cramped flat, panting against each other's mouths as they bumped against John's chair, skidding it several inches to the left and knocking the doctor's reading lamp to the floor with a crash. John chuckled as he steered Sherlock around the resultant mess, shoving the taller man just as his toe hooked casually behind his ankle. Sherlock fell back with a squawk, his blue eyes wide with surprise, landing on the sofa with a soft _whump_. John stood over Sherlock's sprawled figure, savouring the sight of his disheveled curls and rumpled silk robe, his quick gaze not missing the rather obvious bulge in the other man's silken pyjama bottoms. Sherlock's cheeks were flushed, his lips wet and full, deliciously pink...

"Gorgeous." John murmured, dropping to his knees beside the sofa, positioning himself between Sherlock's long, silk-clad legs, running his fingers slowly up those lean thighs. "You are so fucking gorgeous, Sherlock..."

Sherlock's only response was a broken whimper as his hips raised into John's touch, tilting towards those deft fingers, clearly hoping to guide John's hand onto his aching shaft. It was tempting. But John wasn't about to succumb to Sherlock's demands, not this time. For once he had the upper hand, he could leave Sherlock reeling and off-balance --- perhaps it was petty but the doctor fully intended to hear Sherlock beg  _him_ for something. 

John lowered his head, allowing his warm breath to ghost over Sherlock's erection, pleased to hear the other man's shaky gasp. Sherlock thrust up toward John's parted lips but John avoided the contact, instead dropping a chaste kiss on the pale skin peeking out from Sherlock's loosened robe. Sherlock groaned, low and needy in his throat, the sound shooting straight to John's own hard cock and the doctor jerked forward involuntarily, grinding against the side of the sofa between Sherlock's legs, his fingers digging into narrow hips. 

"Please John..." The doctor snapped up to meet Sherlock's heated gaze, somehow startled by how close Sherlock was. "John I - I need - please.." This close, John could make out each variation of blue in those ocean-bright eyes, count every long dark lash, smell that combination of cool mint and warm musk that always surrounded The detective (when he didn't smell like autopsy fumes or a chemical bouquet, that is). It was going to be a lot harder to prolong this than he had expected. Especially when that rich voice gasped: " _Kiss me._."

He lunged to capture Sherlock's lips, one hand still gripping his hip while the other yanked at the silk cord holding Sherlock's dressing gown shut, then his fingers were exploring warm bare skin and Sherlock's hands were in his hair and dragging down his spine and those long, long legs were wrapping around his waist, drawing him into that welcoming heat and John's resolve vanished like smoke on a blustery day. 

"Fuck Sherlock, d'you have any idea what you do to me?" He demanded, pressing wet, moan-filled kisses into the smooth arch of the detective's throat, now grinding in earnest between the taller man's legs drawing a  _yesyesyes_ that John was certain had nothing to do with his question. The doctor's fingers found the edge of Sherlock's waistband, slipping under the smooth fabric, drawing it down slowly until Sherlock was whining and bucking under him, trying to squirm out of the offending garment. Finally his cock sprang free and John scarcely heard the groan of relief from Sherlock, transfixed as he was by the sight of that glorious cock, swaying proudly between them. Naturally, even Sherlock's dick would be annoyingly superior. 

"Jesus Sherlock..." John breathed, his hand reaching unbidden for the hard shaft that seemed to leap into his touch, a pleased grunt falling from Sherlock's lips as John's fingers closed around his cock. Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut as John's fist moved hesitantly along his shaft, sliding down to the root then traveling slowly up to the sensitive head, eliciting a whimper that the detective tried to muffle with his palm. John grinned. This was going to be great fun. 

The former soldier resolutely ignored his own throbbing hard-on, instead focusing all of his considerable attention on Sherlock. Slicking his thumb over the precum gathered on Sherlock's cock, John moved his free hand up Sherlock's chest and throat, teasing his index along Sherlock's lips until the detective moaned and caught his finger, sucking it deep and wet between those lovely pink lips, his mouth warm and soft and inviting.. John's cock throbbed more insistently and he began stroking a little harder, a little faster; swiping his thumb across the top of Sherlock's velvet-damp head.

\-------------------------------------------

"Gonna make you cum, Sherlock." John promised, his voice a dark, tempting murmur, making Sherlock's entire body shudder with anticipation, "make you cum for me, make you beg for it - you want that, you want to beg for my cock?"

"God yes!" Sherlock pleaded shamelessly, both because he knew it would please John and because he just couldn't stop himself, "Yes, make me cum, fuck, please-please John...please I want- need - please- _OH_!"

Warm lips closed around the tip of Sherlock's cock, and John was sucking him down, taking his shaft as deep as his throat would allow, his groan rumbling around Sherlock's sensitive shaft, nearly making him finish just that quickly but the detective bit down hard on his lip, the pain distracting him just enough to stave off an embarrassingly early orgasm. Sherlock clutched at John's short blond hair, fucking into the smaller man's mouth as gently as he could manage; shallowly thrusting into that wet heat, those little groans of pleasure vibrating around his cock beckoning him to go harder, faster, deeper but he restrained himself with supreme effort. 

Suddenly John's spit-slicked finger was sliding behind Sherlock's balls, teasing at his sensitive entrance, wrenching a humiliating yelp from the detective, his hips bucking up into John's hot, wet throat and then Sherlock was coming with a strangled groan. John boldly continued sucking him straight through each intense wave of his orgasm, swallowing every drop of come while Sherlock ran his shaking fingers through those faintly damp blond locks, tugging gently at the longer bit on top. 

"I - John that was... I didn't mean- m'sorry-" Sherlock mumbled, feeling blurry and disoriented, as though he had drank too much too fast but John was smiling as he crawled up to straddle the detective's bare lap - he had removed his own trousers at some point, which Sherlock had missed entirely.

"I quite like seeing you this way Sherlock, we ought to do this more often." Then John was kissing him again, slick tongue delving into his mouth, the faint salty tang of Sherlock's come invading his senses, making his spent cock twitch hopefully. 

"Perhaps," Sherlock whispered breathlessly, "perhaps we should continue this upstairs then?" 


	3. Chapter 3

The sight of Sherlock stretched naked across his bed was not one that John would soon forget.

Smooth, creamy white skin seemed to go for miles, highlighting the detective's surprisingly muscular frame; all long limbs and elegant dark hair. John's gaze traveled from Sherlock's piercing blue eyes, down his broad chest with its light dusting of dark hair, the flat planes of his stomach tapered to a perfect "V" leading straight to his cock. 

"You're staring, John." Sherlock rumbled from the bed, disdainful tone somewhat spoiled by the nervous way he smoothed down the covers beneath him. 

"I am." John agreed, prowling closer to the bed, "I'm trying to decide what to do to you first..." Sherlock's half-hard cock jumped at those words, stiffening noticeably. John kneeled on the foot of the bed, "There's so many things I want to do to you, Sherlock.. So many ways I want to fuck you. Make you scream my name and beg me to let you cum..." 

Sherlock arched, hips thrusting into the air as his fist closed around the base of his own cock, "Christ John!" 

A smile tugged the doctor's lips as he watched his flatmate shiver and writhe on the bed, driven to distraction by nothing more than his voice. How many times had Sherlock's voice left him in a similar state? How many times had John retreated to this very bed to stroke himself to a hasty, muffled climax while thinking of Sherlock's deep voice? 

"John.." Sherlock's pleading gaze drew John closer, tempting him to abandon his teasing and just give in to the heat of the moment.

Long legs reached out, hooking around the doctor's waist, invitingly warm. John's cock brushed against a firm thigh, a jolt of pleasure rocking the doctor down to his toes. Sherlock moaned, his legs spread wide, dragging John's gaze downwards, breath hitching as he got his first look at Sherlock's perfect bare arse. Just as beautifully pale and creamy as the rest of him, his cock blood-dark by contrast and fully hard again. John barely spared it a glance, wetting his lips, gaze centred on Sherlock's tight pink hole. Without conscious thought, his hands were drifting down Sherlock's trembling thighs, small circular motions of his fingers drawing him slowly closer to the point of no return. Sherlock squirmed, canting his head into John's pillow to muffle his curse-laced whimpers, hips rising again and again, shaking with desire. 

Finally John's teasing massaging fingers paused, just the briefest hesitation, before his thumb stroked across Sherlock's rim, pressing gently before sliding past then back again. And again. Each quick stroke emphasized by the firm but careful press, a little circle over his taut rim, relaxing the tight muscle as it twitched under his minstration, opening enthusiastically to the gentle pressure of John's thumb.

Sherlock was whining helplessly into the pillow, hands clutching involuntarily at the covers, skin flushed prettily pink in the warm glow of the lamp. "John. John, yes- don't stop, oh-oh- _oh_ yes!" 

Still kneading his thumb in its rhythmic, circular motion, John leaned forward, reaching into his night table for a small clear bottle. Sherlock tracked his motion with liquid-bright eyes, nodding eagerly, hips gyrating torturously. 

Reluctantly, John drew away from Sherlock's eager heat just long enough to pour some of the cool fluid into his palm. Sherlock whimpered at the loss of contact, murmuring quiet pleas to continue, seemingly unaware himself as he stared at John's skilled hands. The doctor slicked the first three fingers of his right hand thoroughly, until they were dripping with lube - Sherlock panted, nodding urgently, hips squirming with anticipation - then John was pressing his slippery index finger against Sherlock's eager pink entrance.

"Oh _fuck_ , Sherlock!" John groaned as his finger slid home, his own cock aching mercilessly. The doctor rutted against Sherlock's firm thigh, biting back desperate moans.

Sherlock's puckered rim yielded easily, accepting the slim finger with little resistance, his body tight and hot and ready. John pumped his finger in and out slowly, enjoying every whimper and squirm, the way Sherlock tightened around his finger, clutching at him greedily. 

" _More!_ " Sherlock gasped, eyes wild, curls plastered to his sweaty forehead, "Please John, _please!_ I need- need you..." 

John obliged happily, pressing a second finger deep into that intoxicating heat, sliding in and out with calculated slowness, spreading his fingers each time he drew out, stretching Sherlock open with each torturous stroke. Suddenly John's fingertip grazed that firm nodule, that perfect bundle of nerves, and Sherlock _howled_. His eyes flew wide, toes curling under as his legs tightened convulsively around John's torso, the doctor's swollen shaft pressing and dragging against warm skin, nearly unraveling him.

"Fuck me John! Please, _please_ \- I'm ready!" Sherlock was babbling wildly, clutching at John's arm and waist, "I can't wait- _need you John_ , please!" 

John's free hand gripped the base of his shaft to keep from coming, Sherlock's desperate tone, begging for his cock was almost more than he could handle. When he was certain that he had control of himself again, John drew his fingers out of Sherlock languorously, committing each gasp and whine to memory as he did so. Finally he pulled free, staring greedily at Sherlock arse, his rim loose and open, slick with lube and eagerly awaiting John's thick cock. 

"Jesus Sherlock..." John clutched Sherlock's hips, lining himself up with that tantalizing entrance. "Fucking beautiful, you are.."

The detective reached out frantically, pawing at John's cock, his fingers trembling as he took hold of his shaft, guiding it toward his opening. When the head of John's neglected dick touched the slippery heat of Sherlock's body it was all John could do to prevent himself from fucking the other man into the mattress with abandon.

John pressed the tip in, just barely pushing past that elastic clutching ring of muscle. Sherlock's body was practically sucking at him, trying to pull his cock deeper but John restrained himself with difficulty. With short, shallow thrusts, John teased Sherlock open even more, preparing his body for the fucking it was about to take. Sherlock was panting beneath him, soft keening sounds driving John mad with arousal and at last the doctor couldn't hold back a moment longer. 

One smooth thrust and John was fully sheathed, wrapped in heat and slick; leaving him breathless, dizzy and completely overwhelmed. He fell forward, sinking even deeper into Sherlock's heat as he dragged the detective up, pulling him into a breathless kiss, fingers sinking into damp curls, gripping tightly, certain that if he let go now he would wake up and discover that this had all been a dream.

\------------------------------------------

Sherlock moaned into the kiss, wriggling under the press of John's body, grinding himself onto his thick shaft impatiently, hungry for more. He needed John to move, to thrust, to fill him so full, pumping in and out until they both came as one, shouting out in ecstasy and collapsing in a sweaty, shaking heap. 

"Please John," he heard himself whining again, begging for John's cock just as the doctor had promised he would, "please fuck me John. Cum for me. Cum inside me, please baby-"

That final word seemed to spur John into motion; he pinned Sherlock to the bed, slamming his cock deep and began to thrust roughly. Sherlock arched, groaning deep in his throat as each powerful stroke of John's cock lit him from within, filling him with heat, throbbing through his veins, dancing under his skin like fire. 

"Oh god John, _yes_ fuck yes, oh god baby, don't stop please don't stop _oh fuck_ yes, please, so good oh pleasepleasepleaseyes so good fuck me John!" The words tumbled off of Sherlock's lips like a prayer, begging to a deity he didn't believe in for a pleasure he had never known before. Never like this.

John's fingers dug into Sherlock, painfully tight, bruising his pale skin; each thrust harder than the last, each thrust driving Sherlock closer to the brink of pure ecstasy, every nerve in his body alive with pleasure as John's cock explored the depths of his body. Sherlock was transfixed by John's face, his eyes were closed, teeth bared in almost a snarl as every muscle in his stout, powerful body stood out in sharp relief, each thrust emphasized by a low growl in the doctor's chest.

Sherlock's hands seemed to have taken on a mind of their own, clutching the sheets, reaching up to pull at John's hair, tenderly brushing John's cheek, nails dragging down John's muscular thighs, reaching down to stroke his own cock, jerking himself in time with John's thrusts. He was so close, he could feel it building within, that exquisite pressure, sending chills running all over his skin, leaving him hot and flushed and shivering with its sheer magnitude. 

"John..." he pulled the other man close, "I'm close - _so close_ \- gonna cum baby, please cum for me John, want you to cum with me please." 

John locked eyes with Sherlock, never breaking his rhythm as he reached down to wrap his fist over Sherlock's, stroking him in tandem with each deep, measured thrust. John's fingers - those fantastic, beautiful, perfect fingers - gripped Sherlock so tightly, his thumb sliding over the achingly full head of his cock, pressing into the slit, slicking precum in a lazy circular motion, stampeding Sherlock toward his inevitable climax. 

"Fucking cum Sherlock." He ordered, huskily, "I need to see it - love watching you cum, love how you feel wrapped around my cock - so fucking tight. So perfect." 

Sherlock gave one last feeble whimper and then the dam burst, his cock jerked in his - their - fist and then it was throbbing, spilling hot white ropes of semen onto his chest and stomach, mingling in their fists as they continued pumping through his orgasm. He lay, shuddering weakly, his body humming with pleasure, vision blurred as he stared up at the ceiling in pure satiation.

"So beautiful, Sherlock." John mumbled, finally releasing his steely control, pushing into Sherlock's slick heat one last time, then he too was coming. Moaning into Sherlock's skin, kissing and nipping at his sensitive flesh as his cock twitched and pulsed, spilling his load deep inside Sherlock's body. 

They collapsed together, sweaty and shaking and laughing, sharing breathless kisses as John drew himself out carefully. They curled up on the pillows, heedless of the mess, reveling in each others' presence, each terrified to leave the room lest it break the spell; so that's how they lay until finally they drifted to sleep together. 


	4. Chapter 4

John woke suddenly, hunger clawing at his belly, reminding the doctor that he'd not eaten a bite since half-ten the previous morning. He rolled to his left, peering blearily at the clock as he tried to remember why he hadn't eaten supper last night after...work... _Oh...oh right._ John turned slowly to his right, not sure what he would find, half of him was convinced he would discover an empty bed and the other half was terrified that he _wouldn't_.  
  
Sherlock's face was peaceful in sleep, his usually animated expression serene. His nose twitched and John smiled, hunger pangs forgotten as he settled into his pillow; content to simply study Sherlock's deep, measured breathing and the tiny micro-expressions that furrowed the detective's brow and tugged his lips into what might have been a smile or a sneer. After several long minutes, Sherlock's eyelids fluttered then opened wide, crystalline blue practically glowing in the morning sun.  
  
"Good morning, John." Sherlock's voice was deeper than ever, husky and sleep-roughened, "Slept well, I presume?"  
  
"Yes. Indeed, yes - very well. Ahem, 'scuse me." John touched a nervous tongue to dry lips, wishing desperately for a drink, "So -er- did you, uh, did you sleep well? Also?" the doctor cringed internally at his stumbling attempts at small-talk. He'd always been terrible at morning after chit-chat, but this was a hundred times worse. He'd just _got off with his bloody flatmate!_ What was he supposed to say? _"Thanks for the shag, fancy a bit of toast?"_  
  
"Breakfast does sound tempting, doesn't it?" Sherlock interrupted that train of thought, amusement curling around his lips as he read John's mind like a billboard, "My transport is in need of fuel after last night's.. _. activity."_ John's pulse jumped at the way Sherlock lingered over the word, memories of Sherlock writhing and moaning beneath him suddenly flickering through his vision.  
  
Before he could second-guess himself, John leaned forward to press a whisper soft kiss to those smirking lips. Sherlock made a quiet little noise, responding with equal tenderness as they shifted together, sinking into a warm embrace. Gradually the kisses changed from chaste and exploratory to hot, open-mouthed and groaning; the slide of bare skin and tangled limbs lighting a fire in John's chest, burning away his embarrassment.  
  
Somehow John wound up on top while Sherlock's ridiculously long legs wrapped around his waist drawing him in, the detective rutting up into John's body, rubbing their hardened cock's together deliciously...  and that was the moment John's empty stomach chose to loose a loud, cantankerous rumble. John froze. Sherlock pursed his lips, brows raising nearly to his hairline. Then the pair of them began to giggle; their merriment quickly growing to full-on chuckles. John pressed one last affectionate kiss onto Sherlock's grinning mouth then rolled to his feet, casting about for his pyjama bottoms, while Sherlock pulled on his discarded dressing gown.  
  
"Did you..." John frowned, glancing down at himself then shooting an inquisitive glance at Sherlock's chest, "Did you clean us up? Last night - after, I mean, when we...?"  
  
"Of course. I was much too sticky to sleep." Sherlock replied, looking confused by John's reddening eartips.  
  
"I should have done that," John muttered, berating himself for his post-coital rudeness, "How did I not wake up?"  
  
"You did... somewhat. You are very affectionate when you are half-asleep, you know." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, his smile somewhere between teasing and adoring. John groaned, his face going hot as he tried not to think about what he had done - or said - while Sherlock was cleaning the sex-mess from his body.  
  
"Right, breakfast!" He announced loudly, deciding that it was best not to dwell on the subject.

  
  
\----------------------------------------------------  
  
  
The pair were about halfway down the stairs when a clinking of dishes from the kitchen brought them to an abrupt halt. John and Sherlock traded a wary glance, proceeding cautiously to the main floor of their small flat where they were greeted by the most glorious aroma of bacon and syrup wafting through the air.  
  
"Good morning you two sleepy-heads!" Mrs. Hudson chirped brightly, head poking out of the kitchen, "Mr. Lestrade stopped by this morning, but I told him you two had-" her voice dropped to a stage-whisper, " _-_ a bit of a _late_ night." She smiled, waggling her brows suggestively, "So I just asked him to stay on for breakfast. I've made fresh waffles dearies, come along 'fore it gets cold, you know."   
  
Greg Lestrade stepped around the corner, carrying a heaping plate of fragrant, steaming waffles and wearing possibly the largest grin John had ever seen. "Good morning fellows. Tea's on."


End file.
